


You Can Be Amazing

by PrioritiesSorted



Series: You're Not Going to Kiss Me, Are You? [1]
Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Season/Series 01, bless, look at these baby lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4161285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrioritiesSorted/pseuds/PrioritiesSorted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was ridiculous, the way her chest ached and she felt nauseous watching Paris walk away. It was completely nonsensical. She didn’t even like Paris. Not much, anyway. She was bossy and superior and frequently rude and she hardly ever smiled. Not that Rory wanted Paris to smile at her; her smile was always so small and so hopeful that it gave Rory butterflies, which was absurd in itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Be Amazing

**Author's Note:**

> So, hopefully this is the first in a series of short fics in which I imagine how Rory and Paris would get together in each season, because these baby lesbians are too adorable and ridiculous. 
> 
> Title from "Brave" by Sara Bareilles.

“Yeah. Well, gotta go. Have a really good summer.”

Rory stood, speechless, at the foot of the staircase.

It was ridiculous, the way her chest ached and she felt nauseous watching Paris walk away. It was completely nonsensical. She didn’t even _like_ Paris. Not much, anyway. She was bossy and superior and frequently rude and she hardly ever smiled. Not that Rory wanted Paris to smile at her; her smile was always so small and so hopeful that it gave Rory butterflies, which was absurd in itself.

She hadn’t even felt this way when Dean dumped her; sure she’d been upset and ashamed and hurt but it hadn’t felt like this, like the earth was falling away beneath her feet and she was falling with it. She wanted to run after Paris, but her feet wouldn’t lift off the ground. So Rory just stood there, staring off into nothing and wondering how in the hell she’d gotten here.

 

* * *

 

_“I’m going to need several years of therapy to remove that image from where it’s etched on my brain.” Rory grimaced as she watched Tristan strut away, and eyed her locker mistrustfully, though realistically she knew it wasn’t the locker’s fault that it had been the chosen location for the most disgusting make out session of the century._

_“Yeah? Add it to the list. It’s not like we can do anything about it anyway.” There seemed to be extra venom in that way Paris slammed her locker shut that morning, and Rory didn’t blame her._

_“We could… we could make out in front of his locker and see how he likes it!”_

_“He’d probably like that quite a lot.”_

_“Oh yeah.”_

_“I, on the other hand, would not.”_

_“Obviously.”_

_“Obviously.”_

_“Right. Well I have Lit now so I’m just gonna…” Rory flailed her hands in the direction of her locker, hopefully indicating the books that needed gathering._

_“We have Lit together.”_

_“Oh, yeah. So do you want to…”_

_“I already said I didn’t.”_

_“I mean go to Lit.”_

_“Oh, right, yeah. Let’s do that.”_

_Lit that day was particularly interesting, and Rory did not spend even one minute of it thinking about making out with Paris against Tristan’s locker. Not even one._

 

* * *

 

 So there had been some weird tension, that didn’t mean anything. She’d been so confused then, confused enough to kiss _Tristan_ of all people. And she definitely didn’t have feelings for Tristan.

But Paris did. Paris had feelings for Tristan and if Rory was bothered by it, then it was only because Tristan was a tool and Paris deserved better. Paris, after all, was smart and cute and interesting and Rory had _told_ Tristan that much yet still he didn’t seem to appreciate her.

 

* * *

 

_Paris was stunning._

_Rory had known the outfit was good, she’d known that Paris would look pretty in it, but she hadn’t expected all words to fly out of her head leaving her with,_

_“You look great!”_

_You look great? The immense variety of the English language for her to choose from and Rory went with “you look great.” Because that didn’t sound generic or insincere at all. She needed a better word._

_“You look amazing.”_

_Better. But there was no time to find words to properly express the way her heart rate had accelerated just a little bit, and her fingers itched to reach out and run through Paris’s hair (which looked soft, really soft, and so shiny), because Paris was thanking her and running out the door to meet Tristan._

_The thing was, Rory didn’t want her to go._

 

* * *

 

 Rory had no idea how long she’d been standing in the hallway, but she was jerked pretty unceremoniously from her reverie by some guy jostling her in his haste to leave school behind for the summer.

But Rory didn’t want to leave school behind. She loved the building and the classes and the people- okay, maybe not all the people. A few people. A very few people. One person.

The Rory was running. She raced up the stairs and around the corner, only to stop short, narrowly avoiding barrelling straight into,

“Paris!”

Paris only fixed her with a glare, attempting to step around Rory to go back down the stairs, but Rory side-stepped to block her path.

“I thought I was done with you.” Paris said pointedly, and even if Rory knew this was ridiculous she had to _try._

“Paris please just hear me out. Yes, Tristan asked me to P J Harvey, but I said no. I would never do that to a friend, because I consider you a friend, Paris, even if you hate me. I mean, I also didn’t want to go with him because he’s a jerk, but even if I did want to go with him I wouldn’t.” She was rambling now, but somehow she couldn’t stop, not until she actually managed to articulate _something_ of the horrible and confusing mess of feelings she was currently struggling to contain. “I care about you, Paris. I want you to be happy, and honestly Tristan wouldn’t make you happy; you’re way too good for him and if he can’t see that then-“

She was cut off by Paris kissing her, which - okay - unexpected. Her lips were soft, though the kiss was not (it was _Paris_ after all) and Rory’s brain seemed to short circuit for a second. Then Paris was pulling back and Rory was staring down at the angriest person who had ever kissed her.

“I don’t care about Tristan, you idiot!” Her cheeks were flushed and Rory didn’t know if it was from the anger or the kissing or maybe the embarrassment as Paris looked down at her feet and muttered, “I care about you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘Oh’. Look, I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know why I did that…”

“Paris, it’s okay.” Rory wished Paris would just look up and see the smile that she couldn’t hold back, but Paris refused to glance in her direction as she continued,

“No, no it’s not okay, is it? I just threw myself at you and made a complete fool of myself because you’re clearly not into girls and if you were you’d probably have kind of super-hot model girlfriend because that’s how-“

This time, it was Paris who got cut off, as Rory lent down to press a kiss to her lips. Paris tensed immediately, and Rory raised a hand to gently stroke the hair at her temples; it was only a second before Paris tentatively kissed her back, and Rory could feel her smile as she pulled away.

“It’s really, really okay. More than okay. It’s… amazing.”

 

* * *

 

Paris squeezed her hand as they stood outside her grandparents’ front door.

“Everything’s going to be fine.”

“You mean that?”

“No, not at all.”

“Thank you that’s very comforting.”

It seemed as though she’d barely pushed the bell before her grandmother was opening the door and ushering them both inside, offering them drinks and calling her grandfather down from his study to say hello to Rory and “her new friend from Chilton.”

Rory waited until her grandparents were sitting expectantly opposite them before she took a deep breath and said in one long rush,

“This is Paris, she’s my girlfriend. And I don’t mean that in an ‘oh I’m going for cocktails with my girlfriends’ kind of a way. I mean it in a ‘we hold hands and go on dates and kiss each other on the mouth’ kind of a way, although you probably didn’t want to know that last bit, not that you couldn’t have inferred it from what I said but I just wanted to make absolutely sure you knew what I was talking about so there would be no misunderstandings about my relationship with Paris, my girlfriend.”

Rory wasn’t sure what an aneurism looked like but she was at least forty per cent sure her grandparents were collectively having one. Richard’s jaw hung slightly open, while the knuckles gripping his newspaper had gone white. Emily, on the other hand, simply seemed to have frozen where she stood, and Rory wasn’t completely sure she wouldn’t shatter if given a light push.

“Hello, Mr and Mrs Gilmore.” Paris ventured after a few agonizing seconds, giving a little wave, “Thank you for having me, you’ve got a beautiful home.”

This seemed to jerk Emily back into herself, because she blinked purposefully before (finally) saying,

“Well, at least she’s not going to get pregnant.”

 


End file.
